


For not letting me go

by Mtraverandujar



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27780493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mtraverandujar/pseuds/Mtraverandujar
Summary: Every decision comes with a price.
Relationships: William Adama/Laura Roslin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25





	For not letting me go

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Bill and Laura don't belong to me, only to each other.
> 
> Thank you Kaitlynn Wells for being an endless source of prompts for SpaceParents fics.

Bill holds his breath, his palm barely touching the curtain. He takes a moment to regroup, wills his heartbeats to calm down. She will probably be asleep anyway; he must not entertain the hope that he will see her awake and will be able to talk with her already in his first visit. She sleeps most of the time, Cottle has explained. But he has also informed him that he is only giving her very mild sedatives now, and that she has opened her eyes a couple of times already. That they have talked and that she was not confused or disoriented. She had just forgotten the moments before she went unconscious, but that is to be expected. It may all come back to her at some later point of her recovery; it should not matter if it never does. She was agonizing; the brain can block the memories from traumatic events.

Cottle himself did not know what to expect when Ishay rushed to tell him Laura Roslin had just woken up; it is not like he had any previous experience in bringing someone back from the dead using a cylon blood infusion. He had been relieved to hear her give all the right answers (‘I’m Laura Roslin, President of the Colonies, I have cancer, you’re doctor Cottle, I’m in sickbay, the cylons are chasing us, we’re searching for Earth’) and ask all the right questions (‘what day it is, what’s the time, how long have I been out, is the fleet okay, why am I still not dead, has Admiral Adama been the one handling everything?’) as if she were just back from a nap. The woman they had brought back to life was undoubtedly and a hundred per cent Laura Roslin, if her determination and insistence in asking the most uncomfortable questions were anything to go by: from those Cottle is yet to find an answer for (‘Am I really cured, what can I expect to feel now, what will happen to my body?’) to the ones that make the doctor roll his eyes (‘When will I be able to resume my duties, can you please ask Billy to come here so we can catch up?’). Time would tell if they have to face any unforeseeable consequences but, for now, they are off to a good start.

Bill smiles for a moment, remembering Cottle’s words and picturing the Laura he knows so well; the woman that has found her way under his skin and into his thoughts like no other ever could. Then, he exhales and sweeps the curtain aside. It slides along the rod without a sound, and he peeks in.

Laura is sleeping. The sheets cover her up to her armpits and her chest rises and falls with a gentle, steady breathing, so different from the ragged pants that wracked her body the last time he saw her conscious. She looks small and fragile, lying there on the bed, surrounded with tubes and devices; connected to intravenous drips and beeping monitors that translate her life into moving lines and figures; her heart, body, mind and soul into tangible evidence that she is still here. Her dark auburn hair, tangled and fanned out on the pillow, makes a contrast with both the white of the pillowcase and that of her skin. His heart clenches at the sight. She is the strongest woman he has ever met; she is tough as a rock and resolute and stubborn and… and right now it seems like she could fall apart with the softest breeze, as if she were made of ash. Bill has to remind himself that she is cured, and conscious, and without any irreversible damage, and that she will be okay.

She has to be. They will never make it without her. Without the clarity of her mind, her courage, her commitment and her warmth, they will not stand a chance. They need her.

He needs her.

He lifts a hand to his lips. He probably should not bring back those memories; at least not here and now, in front of Laura, waiting for her to wake up after being so close to dying. He has no clue what to expect from now on, but he already knows that the touch of her lips and her smile after he kissed her will haunt him until his dying breath.

He breathes in deeply, pulling himself together; he takes a few steps into the space and looks around searching for a chair.

‘Bill’.

He startles and turns to the bed. The woman on the gurney has her eyes closed, her brow slightly furrowed and her hands clasped together on her belly. If she were asleep, he may have thought she was having a bad dream. But she has just spoken, and this means she is awake, so her slightly strained stance must be the sign that she is uncomfortable. The realization that she is still unwell sends a pang to his chest, but he smiles, nonetheless.

‘Sorry I woke you. I came to sit here with you for a while. Keep you company.’

‘I wasn’t sleeping. I heard you come in.’

Her voice comes out hoarse. She is still refusing to open her eyes and Bill takes the chance to watch her quietly. So, she recognized him. Even in her current state, she can tell the sound of his steps from everyone else’s. He wonders what that means.

He contemplates how it must feel to be pulled from the claws of death in the last second. What it must be like to draw your last, agonizing breath and lose consciousness, only to open your eyes a while later and find out you are still alive in a future you never planned for; one you always imagined devoid of yourself. The shock of realizing you are still the president of a rag-tag fleet on a run for their lives at the end of the world… What a bitter reward for ditching death. He would not blame her if, at some point, just letting go and dying felt like a better prospect to her.

Her eyelids flutter open; she blinks the world back into focus and looks up at him slowly. Her expression does not change as she studies him. It is almost as if her facial muscles still lack the strength to reflect her inner reactions.

It makes her unreadable.

He draws the chair closer to her bed and sits down. He feels the urge to take her hand but holds back. Somehow, it was easier when she was dying. When they both thought it was over, he dared to kiss her, even. After the initial surprise, her lips had softly responded, like the faint echo of a promise that would be left unfulfilled. It had been too late too soon. It is easy to be brave when you have nothing to lose.

Now… Now he must be careful.

He gives her a smile, warm but contained.

‘How are you feeling?’

She shrugs. Her expression is grim, as if she were done with pretty much everything; being alive included. Let alone nearly resurrecting.

‘Beyond exhausted.’ She mumbles. ‘Healthy.’

His brows arch.

‘Can you tell already?’

It is great news if just a few hours after her miracle cure she can already feel she is no longer sick.

‘Hmm. Pain’s gone.’

Of course. Sometimes, he forgets the pain. It is so easy to forget it when she makes it look so graceful, so effortless. She never complains. She makes it so hard to notice. Of course, Cottle must have had her on painkillers for a while, but never too high, or Bill would have noticed. Strong meds make you sleepy; they mess up your focus. Laura’s mind was sharp as a knife until the very moment she passed out. He does not need to ask her to know she kept herself together by the sheer force of her will for as long as she could.

She makes it look so easy, and he may have been a little too eager to pretend all was fine, because the sole thought that it was not –and how could it be?- pulled the rug from under his feet.

‘That’s good.’

He pauses. Is it too soon to broach the topic?

‘Did Cottle talk with you already?’

‘Hmmm.’

She waits. He waits. He is not sure if he should explain already or wait for her to set the tone and the direction of this conversation.

She rolls her head to the side on the pillow, looking at him straight in the eye. Exhaustion is apparent everywhere in her expression, as if the sole thought of keeping on living were almost too heavy a burden to even entertain. A cold fear settles in the pit of his stomach: maybe she is thinking that he did not do her any favor after all. His gaze does not waver though as she stares, digging out the truth from its depths like she so expertly learned to do over the past few months. There is a background gleam in her eyes. The small smile she cracks makes it clear to him that, even if she has already formed her own opinion (how could she not, when this involves her own death?), she will keep her stubborn mind open to whatever he has to say in his defense.

Leave it to Laura Roslin to expect you to explain yourself for saving her life.

Her voice comes out soft and controlled but he is way past the point where he still could be fooled by her gentleness. The naïve schoolteacher. He has a hard time remembering another moment in his life when he misjudged someone as blatantly as he did her.

‘Cottle said Baltar figured out a possible cure. A cure that consisted of injecting me with blood from the human-cylon fetus.’

He knows what she really is asking. He will not make it any harder for her.

‘They consulted me, and I authorized it.’

Laura bites her lip. Of course, he knows better than to think she is unsure of what to say. She is just trying to say it in the right way. Her eyes may have remained mostly closed since she came back from the dead, but her mind has been working like a well-oiled engine behind those lids.

She is carefully choosing her words. He is grateful for that. It shows she cares. It shows that the alliance they managed to form still matters to her. Maybe their friendship will survive this, after all.

‘Bill, I… We don’t know what the consequences would be.’

He nods gravely.

‘I’m aware. I considered all it entailed and decided it was worth giving it a shot. In the end, it all came down to one question: should we try to save your life? The alternative was letting you die. If you die, it’s over. If you survive, we can still deal with the possible consequences later.’

Laura shakes her head, her face contracting with barely held objections as her eyes never leave his. He can tell she is struggling to say whatever she is going to say next, but he is sure as frak she will say it just the same.

‘We don’t know what’s next, Bill. Saving me using cylon blood may have been too big a chance to take. My life is not worth putting the remains of humanity at a higher risk than they already are. Bringing me back like this interferes with the best interest of the fleet.’

He stares back at her, a deep frown warping the skin between his brows.

‘I’m afraid that you may have let your… personal feelings cloud your judgment.’

He leans forward. Hurt and even a measure of anger must be burning in his orbs because she recoils a little, sinking deeper into the mattress.

‘You don’t know that, Laura. You don’t know what the consequences may be any better than I do. Maybe using cylon blood to save you does not pose a higher risk for anyone. We don’t know until we try. You’re right, this is uncharted territory. For now, all we know is that you’re alive and that you would have died otherwise, Gaius Baltar taking office. That alone is a poorer prospect already than saving your life and getting ready for whatever comes. You are a much better president than he will ever be. You’ve already proven that much. I respect your feelings, but I won’t apologize for giving it a shot. I could no longer ask you; I had to make the call. I take full responsibility. This decision was made in the best interest of the fleet as much as in my own.’

He gazes at her intensely. It is a relief that she does not regret having been brought back into the mess; at least, that is not what she said, and the Gods know Laura Roslin has a history of speaking her mind. She is not worried about herself. Of course; she never is. She only seems concerned about the possible risks for everyone else. He could even say that she only resents his feelings for her in that they may keep him from making the right calls.

Those two green pools that light up her face sparkle with the surge of the spirit that always animates her. Her pupils do not waver. She is listening.

‘Believe me, there were many times during my career when my personal feelings and my duty were at odds. This was not one of those occasions.’

She breathes in deeply. A sheen of moisture shines on her eyes.

‘I’m sorry, Bill. I didn’t want to imply… I know you. I know of your honor, your integrity. I just…’ she shakes her head. ‘What if I become dangerous? What if I start having strange reactions, making the wrong decisions…?’

He shrugs.

‘If that happens, we’ll deal with it.’

‘What if you can’t stop me?’

She watches him intensely; her eyes have come alive, bathing him in a shower of emerald sparkles. He would do the entire cylon blood thing ten times over just to see again her intelligence and determination shine in her eyes like they do now. He would have done it without a second thought even if she were not the best president they can aspire to have.

That is the crux of the matter. She knows. And he knows what she really is asking. What if he does not have it in him to stop her when the moment comes? What if he cannot bring himself to take the type of extreme measures that the situation may require?

Then again, if she were not the kind of person and leader she is, he would not have harbored any feelings for her that may have affected his decision. As much as he can follow her line of reasoning, he cannot find anything reproachable in his actions.

‘Bill, if something happens… If I… if I’m not the same anymore, you’ll have to take matters in your own hands. You’ll have to stop me. Whatever it takes.’

Bill does not reply. His gaze and mind are lost galaxies away, considering the dark future she is painting for him. He never went that far when he considered the cure. He is a man of action who had to make a decision then and there. It was this or nothing. He went for this, consequences be damned.

He startles at the touch of Laura’s hand on his. Her fingers are cool and weightless, her skin chapped and translucent, but her strength seeps into his flesh like electricity from that single point of contact.

‘Bill.’

It is not admonishment; it is not a challenge.

It is a plea.

Bill looks up to find her face contracted with emotion, her gaze gentle on him.

‘I trust you, Bill. I trust you with my life, literally. I need to know you’ll do what is needed. Just like you did now.’ She pauses, swallows. ‘You’re the only one I’d trust to do it. I also know you’d… do it the right way.’

The right way. Thoughtfully, kindly. Being mindful of her suffering, of her dignity. Bill finds himself trying to assess if he would be able to end this woman’s life at all. The price she demands for saving her life is the promise that he will be ready to end it if things do not go as they hope. That he will be able to deal with the consequences of his decision. After all, that is what taking responsibility is about. The stakes are high.

As her gaze holds his, there is only one certainty: if she looks at him like she does now when the moment comes, he will be lost. Just staring at him from a sickbay bed, she holds him up, pulls all his pieces together. She makes him real and his life wholesome.

Killing her would be worse than committing suicide.

He cannot lie to her. He cannot tell her the truth, either. As much as she can guess it. There is only one possible answer.

‘I won’t have to.’

As soon as he speaks the words aloud, he knows he is right.

He is ready for her to strike back in frustration, so he is astonished to see her eyes go teary instead. She does not withdraw her hand from his.

‘But if something ever happens, I will stop you from damaging the fleet.’

Laura lets out a ragged sigh.

‘Alright.’

Suddenly, she seems fragile, broken; as if she were almost falling apart with relief. Whether she is relieved because she has understood him or because she has misunderstood him, he cannot tell. But she is smart as hell and she can read him like an open book, so her reaction must mean that his answer is good enough for her.

At least for now.

Laura’s hand squeezes his.

‘I hate to put this burden on you. It’s without a doubt the hardest thing I ever had to ask of a man in my life.’

She freezes; her eyes dart back at him as the double meaning of her words sinks in. Bill chuckles. It takes a whole cycle of death and resurrection for Laura Roslin to have a slip of the tongue.

He cannot help himself.

‘Somehow I have trouble imagining that you ever had to ask.’

Laura’s smile widens as a healthy, pink flush spreads on her cheeks. To her credit, her gaze on him does not falter. She allows him full sight of its sparkle; of the emotion it reflects. Weathered presidents own the words they speak.

‘You have no idea.’

‘I always suspected Caprica City was full of idiots.’

Laura giggles softly. Her flush turns a darker tone. His chest swells with pride at the fact that he can make this remarkable woman feel giddy like this, even today, here and now. She deserves this much, and more. He loves to have this effect on her; and that she allows him to imply what he is implying without even trying to reject him.

It strikes him. Once Madam President is through with what she needs to express, Laura Roslin is allowed to take over. She shines bright like a beacon of hope.

There is only one thing he could be thinking about now. It surely must be the same for her.

‘Bill, I wish… I’m alive now. It’s not easy.’

She is not admonishing him; she is not apologizing. She is a practical woman: she is just stating a fact.

He smiles and leans forward, wrapping her hand in both of his.

‘I know my duties, Madam President.’

His use of her title is an endearment. He likes how it sounds, now that they have become friends; he loves how it subtly conveys exactly the opposite of what formal titles stand for: proximity instead of distance, warmth instead of coldness, confidence instead of precaution.

Personal rather than professional.

‘You’re alive and cured, Laura.’ He mumbles. ‘It’s enough. It makes me happy.’

Staying apart, not giving in, is also the price he pays for bringing her back to life. He will never regret it.

Laura also has to pay it.

She sniffs, nods.

‘I know my duties, too.’

Everything else is conveyed in the encounter of their eyes.

‘Thank you for bringing me back. I’m happy to be here.’

There is mirth in his grave voice as he replies.

‘Here we are again.’

Laura’s eyes well up.

‘Both of us.’ She chokes out.

‘Together.’ He completes.

If the Lords of Kobol exist, being granted the means to save this woman’s life must be a gift from them. He will not ask for anything else. He will just remember this and remain grateful until his last breath.

As he presses his lips to her forehead and hears her hum in response, realization hits him hard, joy washing over him like a flood.

Laura is back.

And this is only the beginning.


End file.
